


The found answer

by Vladiel



Category: Van Helsing (2004)
Genre: M/M, Male Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-06-29 16:46:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15733452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vladiel/pseuds/Vladiel
Summary: On the way to Rome, after the fulfilling of his assignment in Transylvania, Van Helsing had a dream and decided to go back to Vaseria to finally get the answers to his questions.





	1. Chapter 1

The great Van Helsing, a knight of The Holy Order, the Left Hand of God, the archangel Gabriel, exiled to Earth in the human form for his self-will and lack of submission, was being mercilessly tortured by nightmares again. He saw horrific, hideous piles of corpses and hacked and slashed bleeding bodies, showing awful wounds, cut heads and limbs, covering the battle-field; he heard terrible screams and moans of intolerable pain, groans of agony of the dying. Blood flowed in torrents, turning the green grass into red, saturating the air with its heavy nauseous rusty smell. Every moment it was growing stronger and stronger, causing him to begin to suffocate. Torrents of blood, having flown together, became a river, which then turned into a sticky red flood, engulfing him. He was drowning in an ocean of blood…

With an abrupt jerk, the heavy breathing man woke up, his body covered with cold sweat, his heart loudly pounding in his chest. Carl was peacefully snuffling in his bed across the tavern room. The monster hunter reached out his slightly trembling hand and grabbed a bottle from a table. He took a gulp of absinth. That calmed him down, and in some minutes his heavy eyelids lowered, closed, and soon he fell asleep again. However, his sleep wasn't quiet again: Dracula came into his dream.

The count said, burning him with a flame in his eyes, "Gabriel, you must return: last time you, having turned into a werewolf, were in a deranged state, and we couldn't talk properly. We must meet again for this. I mean no harm for you. Really, it's true. I'll be waiting for you at the Valerious castle, which, after Anna's death, is fully mine again. Don't you want to finally learn about your past and what are those sins for which, as a penance, you lost your memory? Don't you indeed want to get the much desired answers? Come back! And I'll give you back your life, your memory, yourself… And as a bonus —release from your nightmares. If you agree, I promise to not kill people, they will stay alive, but if you refuse, their deaths will be on your conscience. Come, I'm waiting for you, my angel… waiting with impatience…"

Van Helsing started in his dream and woke up again. He was awfully anxious and dismayed by this dream. It was realistic, not as ordinary dreams. Have Dracula really returned to Earth? It wasn't really that impossible: If Satan could resurrect a man in the form of a demon, hadn't he been able to revive his beloved son and wouldn't he have been eager to do this?

Having sighed heavily, the vigilante turned on his back and put his hands behind his head, clasping them and resting his head on them, staring at the dark ceiling above. What connects him with the vampire? And now he knew they definitely were connected. Cardinal Jinette said that in Transylvania he might find the answer he seeks, but he has lost his chance, having refused to listen Dracula out. That was a mistake, and now he regrets it. Can it be really true, and the demon didn't lie, that he is the knight that killed the prince of Wallachia in 1462 year, the Left Hand of God, archangel Gabriel? That is hard to believe in, but, on the other hand, this can be confirmed by his fragmentary remembrances of the ancient battles, taking place many hundreds years ago, and also by his strength and the unusual physical abilities he possesses, which he displays while hunting alone various monsters and maniacs —those acrobatic stunts he performed at Notre-Dame de Paris when hunting for Mr. Hyde, couldn't have done any other man.

The Vatican emissary recollected how Cardinal Jinette was showing him the images of the house of the Valerious—the royal family of Romania—and how he then simply froze before the ancient portrait of the prince of Wallachia for some moments. He didn't know him, but he seemed strangely familiar to him, and more so…

The nobleman was charismatically handsome. He was astounded by his magnetic visage with vivid, unforgettable features, majestic aspect and noble countenance, reflecting a critical, discerning and independent mind and subtle intellect. His big, beautiful eyes under the arches of the eyebrows, as if drawn with a brush, mesmerized. They shone like the lamps of the mysterious fane. Their perspicacious, profound, penetrating look seemed to pierce a viewer through and looked into his very soul. These expressive eyes glowed with diabolic pride, passion, iron willpower and wisdom through the faint veil of lurking sadness. The thin lips of the aristocrat were willfully and somewhat grievingly pressed. From under his ruler's headwear, resembling a turban, over his shoulders flowed his long gorgeous hair and covered them as a luxurious baldaquin.

The vigilante remembered that looking at this image, he felt a strange dull, aching pain at his heart. He couldn't explain it and was at a total loss about this feeling.

His future victim, the king of vampires, son of the Devil, count Dracula was as different from those creatures he usually dealt with as a star is different from trash.

The monster hunter recalled how Dracula, using his demonic, supernatural abilities—for all his fingers are in their place because he possesses vampiric regeneration—had been accusingly demonstrating him his cut finger. But why did he kill him back then and why was so eager to get the prince's ring that even would cut the finger off of his dead hand? He didn't know.

"And what did this term of address 'my angel' mean?" the man thought. "A taunt? But it was said with tenderness…" Van Helsing was perplexed.

In the morning Van Helsing said to the friar, "Carl, you go to Rome alone: I've got to go back to Vaseria,"

Carl, of course, was surprised by this totally unexpected decision.

"But why?! What for?!" The Vatican scientist looked at him wide-eyed in bewilderment.

The vigilante didn't want Carl to be worried so didn't tell him about his dream and just limited himself to a laconic statement, "I need to do this"

Seeing that Van Helsing wouldn't want to tell him what caused his intention and just informed him of it with set determination, the friar, not guessing the reason for it and so not worrying, decided not to be intrusive and didn't insist on telling him why. Therefore, he didn't argue with the great Van Helsing and agreed. They separated: Carl proceeded to Rome and the monster hunter returned to Vaseria.


	2. Chapter 2

Not wanting to be seen by locals, Van Helsing had got to Vaseria when it was already dark and now was standing before the gates of the Valerious castle on the cold ground, covered by the thin blanket of the snow that couldn’t warm it up. He left his horse in some dilapidated shed not far away on the outskirts, having put before him a pitch of hay and an old bucket filled with the water from a nearby crystal-clear spring. 

When the man was riding here, his heart sank at the sight of the castle as he saw it looming in the distance: he wouldn’t see Anna there anymore.

In the night sky was the full moon again. The silver Selene illuminated the grim and mystic scene that had not changed for many centuries and seemed eternal as the Carpathians themselves that were its inseparable part —the magnitude of the ancient castle towering over surroundings against the background of the black sky, lit by the ghostly moonlight. The pale lunar goddess as if floating through the dark clouds now and then hid behind their gloomy curtains. There wasn’t a living soul around. The solemn cemetery silence was from time to time broken only by the sinister, doleful and eerie wolf howling in the dense pine forests, covering mountain slopes. Van Helsing thought what would have happened if Anna hadn’t been in time to inject him the anti-dote —he would then undoubtedly have experienced the fate of his victims: despite all his services to humankind would have been mercilessly eliminated by the Holy Order.

Standing before the gates and looking at its intricate metal ornaments, the vigilante with all his heart wanted that his dream would turn out to be no more than just a dream, but he knew that it was true: the son of the Devil had really returned —he sensed it. After his long, lasted four centuries, absence the host had come back to his ancient home… The great Van Helsing, the hero with the preceding him everywhere reputation, who was thought to be a holy man by some and a murderer by others, gave a deep bitter sigh: the famous knight of the Holy Order was overcome by brooding.

After seven years that he had been hunting all over Europe for all kinds of various monsters without rest, defending humanity from them and being at the same time hunted without success by its police—what irony!— the man felt really tired. The monster hunter almost didn’t exaggerate it when he told the cardinal, scolding him for the shattering of the ancient Rose Window of Notre Dame de Paris during his hunt of Mr. Hyde and wishing he were able to send him to Hell for a week as a punishment for that —he wouldn’t mind it for a nice reprieve. The Vatican emissary wasn’t afraid of death and thought how right the gypsy princess was saying that it has the brighter side of it. Yes, he definitely wouldn’t mind some rest. Always alone. Doomed to hiding his face and going out under the cover of night as if he were one of those creatures he had been vehemently pursuing. The endless service without rest. Not knowing about his past. No home, no family, no friends, no love… 

After he had lost Anna, Gabriel for the first time during his long service so sharply felt the weight of his burden. Almost unbearable… The king of vampire was right saying that being the Left Hand of God is a curse. In these minutes of despair that suddenly gripped the monster hunter he wouldn’t argue with this statement. No, definitely not. And if the insidious demon has prepared a trap for him and is going to take his revenge upon him and kill him —so be it…

He was wearied and felt totally exhausted by all this: his ceaseless hunt for monsters of all kinds, psychopaths and spawns of Evil—whose number doesn’t reduce for his work in the least—the constant hiding from police, his loneliness, the hard and dangerous assignments—fulfilling which, he could get maimed and more than once had a narrow escape—and harsh rebukes from his superiors instead of gratitude, the annoying amnesia and his permanent terrible nightmares. Rest would be good indeed! 

At the instant he held out his gloved hand to place it against the gate and push it open, the troubling thought came to his mind: whether the Valerious would have been banished to Purgatory if the count had been back from the dead to undead again? In the bargain between Valerious the Elder and God, it was only stipulated that for this line to enter Heaven Dracula had to be destroyed before the death of the last of its member. That was fulfilled. There was no condition of the son of the Devil staying in Hell after his second death. And the monster hunter hoped Heaven stick to the letter.

Quickly having passed the familiar vast yard, Van Helsing ascended the stone stairs, opened the grandiose, massive oak central door, clad in metal, and decisively crossed the threshold of the portal with the huge grey stone coat of arms over it, stepping into the ancient foyer, lit with the torches. The famous undaunted hero, having fixed his hat, confidently crossed it and walked further with firm strides, guided by the soft light of candles. It soon led him to the place warmly heated and brightly lit with luxurious candelabras, but a large marble fireplace with the fiercely raging flame in it, feasting on the whole tree—as if in Hell itself—was quite enough for illumination of the cozy drawing room that was flooded by the delicate golden light, reminding of the canvases of the great artists of the Renaissance. 

And the first what caught the man’s eyes was the imposing, bird of prey, Roman profile with a distinctive aquiline nose that had a fine, aristocratic form. Its noble, refined outline stood out against the background of the burning fire like the dark cameo. The count was pensively sitting before the fireplace, his long legs in high black boots crossed, as if expecting his guest he had lost in thoughts. Having heard the sound of steps, Dracula turned his head and, seeing his visitor, elegantly rose from his chair to meet him. His eager motion was marked by an exquisite grace.

Though Van Helsing expected to see the vampire, the expression of his face nonetheless involuntarily reflected a shadow of some degree of amazement at the sight of his not long ago destroyed adversary that was again safe and sound, as if nothing had happened, without any trace of his recent death on him. Vladislaus smirked at his reaction of seeing him again alive and well.

“Is it so unbelievable that I am back? The other knights of the Holy Order are fools, but you should have known that my Father wouldn’t have agreed with my destruction. I’m not some inferior! I was the legendary ruler of Wallachia, a prince, the great warlord that was and is a national hero of Romania, diabolically proud as Satan. My name means “a son of Dragon”, for my human father was a member of the elite Order of the Dragon and was called Dragon himself, but I was thought to be the son of the Devil before I actually became him. And I’ve risen to the utmost height in my ambitions: being a human by birth, I’ve really become a dark angel and the son of the Morning Star himself that is the Force equal to your tyrannical God. I’m His Right hand here. There is nobody on the Earth who can dare to dream of the smallest part of what I’ve achieved!” ranted Dracula with the truly satanic pride, glowing in his expressive, starry eyes. 

“So you’re really indestructible? Just like your “foster father”? Guess, then there’s nothing left to me except to congratulate you upon having got such an enviable quality,” having heard out his dramatic harangue, the monster hunter smirked in reply, measuring the vampire with his eye.

Dracula laughed at this remark, shining his perfect, pearly teeth.

“Yes, it wouldn’t harm you to do so,” grinned the demon. ”Though I wouldn’t call this indestructibility, rather durability.” The count burst into a new fit of rippling laughter.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean by that that if I was killed in the third time—you know it’s a mystic number—I couldn’t be resurrected anymore. But I hope to not repeat my previous mistake and that you won’t have the desire of killing me anymore, Gabriel. I hope that you’ll soon feel quite another desire…” meaningfully said the host to his bewildered visitor, his dark eyes devilishly sparkling, full of suggestion. “I’m very glad that you accepted my invitation and visited me once again,” not dwelling on this assumption, the nobleman continued, his effulgent smile beaming at the monster hunter. 

“You call that an invitation?” with a sardonic raise of the eyebrow asked the Vatican emissary. “I’d rather call it a threatening demand, what it actually was. Had I any other choice?” added the vigilante with a tinge of sarcastic bitterness to his tone.

“Considering who you are, I guess not.” The charming smile didn’t leave the count’s lips. “And I must agree with your definition as more exact, but you must agree, for your part, that I had to resort to such a form of “invitation” to get you back…” 

“Why did you need me back? Is the reason really to return my memory? What you need it for?” asked the man, suspiciously looking at his recent opponent, once again successfully risen from the dead.

“You’ll know soon”, smiled the aristocrat. “Take a seat”

“I’d rather stand.”

“As you wish. I just wanted to play a role of a hospitable host.”

The legendary knight of the Holy Order just shrugged his shoulders at his remark in a silent expression of the total ineptness of such ridiculous, inappropriate pretensions. 

“And please excuse my breach of decorums —I haven’t greeted you”, ignoring his expressive gesture, said the count. “So hello again, my old friend!” With these words, the vampire stepped toward the monster hunter, stretching out his arms again to hug him like he had done during their meeting in the castle Frankenstein. Van Helsing backed away, once more avoiding the count’s embrace.

“You’re repeating yourself, Dracula,” he observed, making again his escaping circular maneuover. “It appears a bit silly and is slightly annoying as well,” taunted him the monster hunter. 

“And you’re being too strict with your middle-aged friend”, impishly smirked Dracula in response and then laughed heartily at his pun, tossing his proud head back. His laughter sounded so pleasant and young. 

Van Helsing gazed at the new-old host of the Valerious castle, having a strange feeling within him. Dracula had changed not a jot in the appearance. It seemed that it had been just a dream that not long ago the count’s throat was torn apart by the sharp fangs of the werewolf, which the vigilante had turned into, with the demon’s blood gushing from it —black and thick, like pitch. It seemed unbelievable to the man now that he had seen how the demon had become a grey skeleton and then crumbled down in an instant, having turned into a pile of the dark dust before his very eyes. 

Standing before him and triumphantly smiling, Dracula was the same refined dark style incarnate and the very epitome of elegance, wearing his black military Romanian ensemble, his resplendent look complemented with the stylish accessories—the pair of gold earrings and the engraved barrette that with the help of three acute spikes was holding the gorgeous canopy of his rich ebony hair full of sheen in the ingenious coiffure —a snazzy ponytail with the opulence of the hair, parted in the middle, on the crown of his head. He, as always, looked soigné. 

Van Helsing didn’t want to admit it—he resisted this thought, struggled with himself to not admit it—but Dracula was undoubtedly the most beautiful and attractive creature he had ever seen… Much more adorable than even Anna… And just incredibly sexy. Awaking desire… He was undead and simply deadly seductive… At the time of their first meeting in the castle Frankenstein (as the man thought then) the monster hunter didn’t want to notice that fact. He drove such thoughts away from his mind. But now, when he wasn’t busy with the fulfilling of his assignment and didn’t think strenuously about how to help the Valerious, and especially Anna, of course, in their fighting Evil, he couldn’t help seeing that the count possessed a truly stunning, singular, simply magic beauty and unearthly charisma. The face he saw in front of him was just magnetic, drawing gazes to it —as if carved in ivory: the smooth porcelain skin, the chiseled high cheekbones, the brightest, practically dazzling features that incised themselves into the memory of those who saw them like into the stone for good. And now, when the thoughts of the vigilante weren’t occupied by anything else, he was compelled to finally admit that no face had ever so impressed him…

The demon’s beauty was bold, dashing, fiery, dramatic… It was incomparable and unique. It enchanted and captivated… The hypnotic dark eyes—fathomless as the abyss of Abbadon, resembling black diamonds with dancing in them at times sparks-devils—could turn deep blue in a trice, expressing the vampire’s feelings, coruscating like sapphires. His thin carmine lips looked so tender and almost indecently sensual: they literally blazed with sensuality, involuntarily inducing thoughts (even if they were subconscious) of corporeal pleasures and the desire to experience being kissed by these seductive petals —what it would feel and the taste of their kisses… 

The distinguished appearance of the demonic nobleman connected with his royal bearing, stately, dignified poise and graciousness of his movements, combined in a wonderful, charismatic harmony, created a truly bewitching effect of the unforgettable image of the beautiful vampire.

Van Helsing found himself admiring against his will the splendor of the regal deportment of the aristocrat, the king of the undead—such a grandeur of the majestic carriage he hadn’t seen in none of the human monarchs—and the proud grace of the elegant, light gait and every motion of Dracula that he knew had been a great, athletic and strong, warrior in the past. The count was simply glamorous. He shone like a dark star and looked just delectable. The irresistible sexiness radiated by the vampire filled all the space in where he was. It just effused from him, getting under the skin of those who saw him, exciting them, inflaming their blood… The infernally beautiful undead simply intoxicated by himself… And the vigilante caught himself on an involuntary thought that Dracula was perfection embodied…

The Vatican emissary was amazed at his inexplicable reaction to the demon’s beauty and sexiness and felt angry with himself for it. What was happening with him?! He couldn’t explained how the vampire’s brilliant exterior, hellish charisma and sex appeal could affect him at all! It’s some kind of witchcraft! Yes, the count is handsome and sexy, nobody would deny this, but he’s not a female to be susceptible to his charm and to come under his demonic spell! The annoyed man frowned discontentedly. He felt so very strange about this. An odd feeling arose in him, and for the first time in his life the valiant hero felt worried and uneasy…

Meanwhile Dracula, having slyly, devilishly squinted, attentively looked at his guest, evidently feasting his eyes on him, not troubling himself to conceal that or, at least, make less obvious. The count slowly trailed his relishingly sparkling gaze over the strong face and the magnificent body of the monster hunter, taking in, getting drunk on what he saw: a tall, athletic, amazingly handsome man with broad shoulders, caressed by his walnut locks. The fine lineaments of his face were stern and delicate at the same time. His strikingly beautiful eyes under the well-marked eyebrows change their color from dark honey to hazel-green with a vivid emerald note around pupil in dependence of the illumination and emotions of their owner. The ineffable fascination of those eyes couldn’t be described with words… They could be mistaken for the absolutely charming female’s eyes at night if the lower part of his face was covered with his mask with the emblem of the Eye of Omniscience. They shone with celestial light… Once seen those eyes couldn’t be forgotten… The greek nose, the firm chin, the well-cut, seductive crimson lips. Their bright colour and sensual contours betrayed the passionate nature of their possessor, who might have been even unaware of this quality within him, having used to contain and curb himself and all his feelings that interfere with his service and mission, hiding them from himself under the armours of his iron will. But this ardour was lurking inside him, biding its time… 

Having delighted in a stunningly attractive face of the Vatican emissary, the shameless demon, lowering his pale eyelids with the fringe of long, thick black lashes, direct his daring, examining gaze down and slid it over the athletic body and further to the hips and long, beautiful legs of his guest, tracing their fine, subtle lines, which weren’t hidden by his quite body-hugging pants and stressed by his laced high boots. 

Van Helsing felt that his cheeks involuntarily blushed under this impudent scrutiny, during which the vampire was undisguisedly assessing his merits. The vigilante got mad both at the count for his demonic tricks, clearly meant to confuse him, and at himself for his strange embarrassment of the sort that he had never experienced before. The irritated man, having shot the vampire a glare from under his frowned brows in which he tried to put as much contempt as he could in response to his silly mischiefs, turned away from the cunning demon and took some steps around the room, casting casual looks about it to calm down. When he looked at the count again, hoping that he had dropped his stupid foolery, Dracula stared right in the man’s eyes and, with the roguish flash in his eyes, provocatively, very slowly ran his glistening pink tongue across his bright coral lips, licking them. 

Trying to keep his countenance and composure, Van Helsing asked with a scornful grin, “Are you hungry?” 

“Yes.” Was a very laconic answer. The count’s face shone with a radiant smile.

“So this is a real reason for “inviting” me here? You lied and just intended to revenge and try to drain me?”

“No, I meant this in a different sense,” said the demon, smiling beautifully, his dark blue eyes scintillating. “And how can you suspect me of such ignominious doings, Gabriel?! It’s an insult! I’ve always kept my word as it’s befitting a nobleman. Though, you must agree, I have all the reasons for revenge after you killed me twice. The latter with the extreme cruelty —just tore my throat apart with your werewolf fangs,” bitterly laughed the count. “Nevertheless, as I said, I don’t mean you any harm and so don’t intend any revenge, Gabriel. Don’t you still understand why?” And as his guest, apparently puzzled by this question, didn’t reply, the vampire, having contently and somewhat slyly smiled, continued, “Haven’t you asked yourself why I didn’t kill the man, my foe, my murderer, who had come to my home to kill my brides and children, to thwart my plans, to kill me once again as nosferatu as he had done to me when I was alive, while I had many possibilities for that?” the last vampire said, burning the tall, handsome man, standing before him, with a glowing gaze, as if trying to light up his soul. “For though you don’t age and can’t die naturally, you still have a human body that can be destroyed. And there’s no necessity in fulfilling of the special condition to do this —it can be done by ordinary methods.”

With a casual gracious move of his exquisite, aristocratic hand with the thin, long fingers and the nacreous fingernails, he tossed back one of the long stray strands of his lustrous midnight hair that as usual have fallen on his bewitching alabaster face, stressing its beauty. Van Helsing was curiously looking at the vampire, still saying nothing in reply. Having put his hands behind his back, the demonic aristocrat turned and began sauntering about, pacing the room with measured steps, circling his guest, which was matching his movements, keeping an eye on him. The leather of his polished to a shine high boots, accentuating the beautiful shape of the count’s slender legs, creaked softly in the rhythm of his steps.

“Now that we both aren’t occupied with our affairs—I’m not anymore obsessed with the idea of bringing to life my children, and you are not busy with killing me in the third and last time—at least I hope so,” on Dracula’s lips played a devilish smile. ”We can talk finally, what we, unfortunately, failed to do during our previous meetings. It’s high time to do it, Gabriel, don’t you think? After four hundred years of our separation…” The demon’s eyes meaningfully flashed. “At the time of our last meeting in my Icy Fortress, which again ended so tragically for me—it seems to have become a sad tradition with us, at least pretty frustrating and painful for me if not for you,” the count laughed again with a bitter tinge in his voice. ”I told you, Gabriel, that we could be friends, partners, brothers in arms, hinting that we were in such relationship four centuries ago, in the Middle Ages, having said before that we had such a history… So I hoped that you yourself would understand, feel… that it had been much more than that… Unfortunately, you, being in a wild werewolf state—what an unbecoming metamorphosis for an angel!” Dracula interrupted himself, bursting into an unrestrained irrepressible laughter. “After that truly unprecedented phenomenon—just think of it —an archangel-werewolf!—what can be called impossible?!” Having stopped laughing at last, the count continued, “So being in that regrettable state, you were unable to do that, for you couldn’t think or feel then, being possessed by thirst of killing. But later, haven’t you thought over the reason of that I wouldn’t have killed my enemy, having come to destroy my life?” Having stopped right before Van Helsing, Dracula again looked straight in his eyes, piercing the man with his mesmerizing gaze. The monster hunter felt that he was drowning in the drawing black abyss of those eyes, shining with the dark light… “Hadn’t you ever wondered what’s that ring with a dragon on your finger before I told you it was mine? Haven’t you wondered why have you been wearing it all this time —more than four centuries?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 642 hits & only 39 likes show the fic's bad, so I decided not to continue.


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